


Inaugural Week

by ImaniJoain



Series: Unlikely Singularities [25]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-25 03:57:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14370405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaniJoain/pseuds/ImaniJoain
Summary: Tony breaks his arm. Darcy utilizes her spy network. Steve gets furniture.A little of Steve and Darcy. A tiny glimpse of Evie and Bucky. More Tony than we probably needed. Oh, yeah. And Ross feeling the descent of Damocles.*Takes place 01/23/17 - 01/27/17Rating changed to explicit for Chapter 7.





	1. The Easy Way

**January 23, 2017**

 

“Dr. Cho,” Evie nodded at the woman who was attempting to make Tony Stark sit still. Given everything she knew about Tony, Cho was making admirable progress.

“Dr. Vivas, please, call me- Goddammit, Tony! If you don’t stop figiting I _will_ sedate you!”

“Can’t,” Tony replied with a smile that was most likely intended to be smug but looked pained instead. His arm was clearly broken in at least two places. There was blood on his bicep where the bone had poked through. “I do not give permission. The local is working fine.” He winced, clearly lying. “No sedation for me. Unless you have something less medical and more recreational? I haven’t had anything really good since the eighties – okay, mid-nineties. But I was young and naive and she was _so_ hot. Not Pepper hot, obviously, but Miss July hot and I really wanted to avoid that Board meeting and-”

“For the love of bacon,” Darcy Lewis rolled her eyes and abandoned the tour she was giving Evie. “Friday? Could you check with Pepper and see if she’s willing to override this nonsense?”

“Friday!” Tony called shrilly, “I forbid-”

“Ms. Potts has given consent for any sedation or other treatment deemed necessary by Dr. Cho for full and prompt recovery. At your discretion, Dr. Cho.”

Tony scowled at Darcy, but spoke to his AI, “Traitor. And you too Lewis. See if I get you that shiny new wall display for your office now.”

“Oh no. How ever will I go on living.”

Cho smirked at Darcy’s deadpan delivery while she continued to move a portable x-ray into position. Tony was doing a better job of not moving, but his attitude left a lot to be desired. Evie stepped around to the side of the triage bed, staying out of the way of Cho’s work and the line of verbal artillery between Tony and Darcy. She noticed that most of the staff seemed to have disappeared, only one stalwart nurse remaining at her station in case Cho needed assistance. Evie studied the exam area setup and found some sanitizer for her hands.

“You just wait, Lewis. You’ll get what’s coming to you. Just wait.”

“Cheesecake and a naked Steve?” Darcy whispered out of the side of her mouth to Cho, “I’ve been a very good girl.” Cho laughed, and Tony squirmed in agitation, ruining another of Cho’s attempts at getting a look at the damage. Evie took a quick inventory of the medical instruments and equipment available. The Tower was just as well-supplied as Darcy had told her.

“That’s gross. You’re gross, Lewis. I don’t want to hear about your kinky food fetishes. I’m in pain here, agony, and my arm hurts too. I put my life on the line for your safety – for the country, for the _world_ and-”

The elevator pinged. Out stepped two of the most handsome men Evie had ever seen. Which, really, wasn’t saying much since she had started working for Pepper Potts. Tony, despite – or perhaps oddly because of – his arrogance, was quite attractive. Happy was charming and pleasantly good-looking and a saint for his loyalty to his employers. Colonel Rhodes was muscular, determined, and had a smile that lit up a room. The Vision, the one time Evie had met him, was startling and aesthetically pleasing as an odd mixture of man and modern art. She assumed she would eventually become acclimatized to the visual stimulus, but the new arrivals would make things that much harder.

Steve Rogers she recognized both from news coverage of Captain America and the rather intimate photo on Darcy’s phone of his sleep softened face. Drool did not necessarily detract from the angelic image he presented. She could easily picture him with a blazing sword and white wings. If Rogers was Michael, the leader of the armies of God and opponent of evil, then his companion could only be Azazel, the rebel deceiver who taught men how to make war. Where Rogers was golden, the other man was dark. Dangerous looking. Even in jeans and a thermal shirt he was tensed and prepared to fight. He angled himself as they stepped into the infirmary, looking for threats like a feral cat.

_Or a jaguar waiting to pounce._

When he turned, Evie caught sight of his metal hand, and recalled the brief overview Pepper had given her on the other permanent occupants of the Tower. This, then, was James Barnes. Evie had been advised not to stand between him and Tony Stark under any circumstances. The reasoning for that quickly became evident.

“You!” Tony pointed with his functioning hand and frowned more deeply.

"This isn't even my job," Cho muttered as she readjusted the x-ray again.

Tony continued, “I specifically said no puppets in my infirmary. They’re creepy and completely overdone. Not a single original feature since 1964. Shonteff was brilliant. Captain Golden Retriever, remove your boy. Is he even paper trained yet? I just had this floor waxed.”

“Tony, we only wanted to verify security,” Rogers started calmly. “Friday said you were injured. Was there an incident? Any unfriendlies we need to take care of?”

“Yes! Him! He’s unfriendly. Unfriendish. Fiendi-”

“No,” Cho interrupted with a put-upon sigh. She realigned the x-ray machine for a fourth time. “He did this to himself. Something about a flying car.”

“Tony!” Darcy gasped and smacked the shoulder on his uninjured side. “You tested it without Maria? She’ll be devastated!”

“She can’t cut class. Apparently truancy is a thing now.” Tony scowled. “And the new lab protocols require safety restrictions when Junior is there. I was just setting up parameters,” he whined petulantly on the last statement. Rogers made a sharp sound that he quickly turned into a cough, and Tony glared at him. “Not the point. This is the point! It all would have gone fine if U hadn’t been testing ceramics for Ivan the Terrible Scowler’s new tactical armor! I wouldn’t have tried...tried...hey.” Tony blinked slowly, then turned his head toward Evie. She waited, nonplussed, holding a cotton pad to the tiny pinprick on his shoulder.

“What’d ya? That wasn’t very nice. You’re...not even...my doctor.” He frowned.

“Actually,” Evie recapped the syringe and dropped it into the sharps container, tossing the cotton ball and her gloves in with hazardous waste, “you did authorize me to treat you.”

Cho sighed in relief, finally able to get her machine prepped.

Darcy answered. “He has standing orders not to be medicated – says it slows his genius. And he has control issues.”

“Control issues. Do not.” Tony’s eyes were sliding closed as he eased back against the bed.

“Hey, a little upset over a mild relaxant is better than bones sticking out of your body.” Darcy leaned closer to Tony’s face and stage whispered. “And we both know you only refuse the pain pills so you can whine to Pepper and demand attention.”

“Do...not...” And he was out.

“Well,” Darcy stood up straight and brushed her palms together, as if she had just completed a significant job. “I would have spent a good hour calming him down and he would have probably ended up hurting himself even more and I’d punch him in the face just to make him shut up. This was much easier. Good job, Evie.”

Evie shrugged, “There’s more than one way to skin a cat, but why use a lawnmower when you have a scalpel?”

Cho gave her a weird look, as if trying to decide if something had been lost in translation. Darcy laughed, practically skipping to Evie’s side and linking their arms to continue the tour. Behind them, Evie could hear a smothered chuckle and Rogers’ comment to Cho.

“Please tell me she’s staying.”


	2. A Case of the Mondays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meeks39 said I can never stop writing this. So, I guess I'll just keep going... Forever? 
> 
> I have had so many generous compliments on the Marvel women, and I wanted to show some ass kicking in the metaphorical, cerebral sphere as well as the battlefield. And, I actually like Laura Barton. Clint is one of the best, most interesting and funny characters, and I can't believe his wife wouldn't be able to hold her own in any situation. She's a rock of normal that all the crazy just flows around.

**January 23, 2017**

 

“Mrs. Barton-”

Laura cut off the condescending Ph.D. candidate with a scoff, “And how, exactly are you thinking we would be able to reconcile the exploding human population with shrinking usable topsoil, global warming, salinization, and potable water shortages? Put everyone on a diet?”

“I realize you haven’t studied the fundamental economic implications of food consumerism, _Mrs_. Barton,” the woman sneered, “but over consumption by bloated, rich countries like the United States are what causes an imbalance in food production and distribution. The terrible and unknown risks of genetically modified crops are unnecessary, if we simply curb American expectations.”

“Do you have any idea the ratio of unmodified grain production to modified?” Laura wanted to tear out her hair. Or slap the candidate. Slapping seemed like the most reasonable option. “Corn alone produces seven times more product per acre than it did prior to modern seed manufacture. Seven times! And that is with less water, fewer chemicals, and less fuel expended. More food with fewer inputs – that’s an environmental and social success you snot-nosed, over-educated, ivory tower pea-brain! And over a hundred and thirty billion dollars of that is exported, moron, not consumed by any of us _bloated_ Americans! You want only unmodified, all-organic foods – for the entire world? You better be prepared to decide who lives and who dies because starvation goes hand in hand with that future!”

“Unknown risks-” Candidate continued, her olive toned skin going blotchy with anger.

“Out of curiosity,” a new voice interrupted their argument, and Laura whipped around so quickly she had to grab one of the many half-packed boxes of equipment so that it didn’t fall over. “What do you think seed is being modified with?” A tall blonde in a pale blue blouse, matching slacks, and mid-thigh sweater stood just inside the door to her lab. Darcy Lewis was beside her, biting her lip. Laura would have bet hard cash money that Darcy was dying to jump into a discussion of the social and political ramifications of revolutionary change to the world’s grain supply.

“Excuse me?” Candidate looked over the frames of her glasses with a deep frown. “I don’t believe I was made aware of any new _scientists_ starting today.”

“As if you have clearance to be made aware of jack shit,” Darcy muttered, but didn’t try very hard to keep it quiet.

“Pardon my lack of manners,” the woman responded smoothly with a small, tight smile. If Laura had been a lessor woman, she would have wanted to take a step back. That sort of smile hid fangs, she was sure. The blonde, and her hair was coiled in a perfect French twist that Laura envied in comparison to her own ponytail, stepped forward and held out a hand. Her blunt nails were unpolished and trimmed short, her hands smooth and a pale golden tan even in January. Candidate shook her hand reflexively.

“Dr. Evelyn Vivas,” she introduced herself. There was no specific emphasis on the doctor part, but the mere _candidate_ who looked down on Laura for only having a MS flinched as if she had been struck. “I do a bit of work in genetics myself.”

As soon as she said it, Laura placed the name. Dr. E.T. Vivas had co-authored a ground-breaking paper the year before with one of Laura’s former professors. She could easily be named one of the top five geneticists in the world. She was younger than Laura had imagined, around her own age. The candidate blanched, also obviously recognizing the name.

“Dr. Vivas, I-”

“Obviously, there are concerns with any genetic modifications to living organisms. Thankfully, at least in this country, we have oversight to ensure that product approval and use is driven by safety and scientifically proven methodology and not media misinformation fueling consumer panic. It is unfortunate that so many consumers, even the well-educated ones, have not taken the time to read through source material regarding the science.” She let out a brief, patronizing chuckle. “It is as if some people think a mad scientist somewhere is splicing their wheat with grasshopper DNA. Now, that does sound ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

“And the elitism,” Darcy added, in a less dry and more _fuck-you_ tone, “driving that sort of fear-based policy is what would lead to a commodities market where only the super rich can afford the quote good unquote unmodified, organic foods while the rest of us are forced to eat the huge portion of those crops that would rot, or under develop, or be plagued by disease and pests. A food oligarchy. Huh,” she tapped one finger against her chin, “I feel like I’ve heard about that somewhere before.”

Laura smiled for the first time since she had left the apartment that morning. This was her last week working in the Tower, and everything seemed to be piling up on her – literally, as she tried to figure out what to move upstate where Clint was already working feverishly to get the house livable. Having the pretentious jerk who worked in the shared lab next to hers stop by to shit on her research had been the final straw. Candidate huffed out, and Laura smiled wider.

“Thanks for the assist.” She held out her own hand to Dr. Vivas, “Laura Barton.”

“No problem.” She smiled, more genuinely this time, “Although I feel it should be noted that I have professional and personal qualms about several GMO strains currently in development. It simply irritates me that the entire science, which has fed billions, would be thrown out with the bathwater, so to speak. The USDA and FDA aren’t incompetent. Underfunded, yes, but they’re not all idiots.”

“ _Kol HaKavod_. Although, regarding idiots, I have a few thoughts about administration appointments and politically driven policies.” Darcy rolled her eyes, “Because of course I do. But unlike some people, _I_ can have a spirited discussion with brilliant women of differing viewpoints without lowering myself to name calling.”

“You can?” Laura pretended to look shocked and Darcy laughed. Laura was going to miss seeing Darcy and some of the other Tower employees every week. But there was Jane Foster to look forward to at the upstate facility, and Darcy assured Laura that Jane was good people. And the kids had practically salivated over the idea of living next to a lake – which Clint had assured her was safe and clean and surrounded only by their new place and Tony’s property. “And you’re implying that I was arguing with someone who was brilliant. That’s a false assumption, Darcy. Bad science form.”

Darcy lifted up a tray with coffees in it, the fancy kind from the lobby shop, “And on that note. Ready for a break?”

“So ready.” Laura lead the other two through the mess to a worktable and pulled stools and a rolling chair over. “So, Dr. Vivas, what brings you to the Tower?”

“Stark Industries,” she replied. “I have a research contract and office in LA, but Pepper suggested that I should solicit some people she knows here in New York to open more funding opportunities. And it will give me a second office where I could see potential patients.”

“You’re an MD as well?” Laura raised her brows. It never ceased to thrill her how many smart women were out there. “Have you seen the employee clinic on twenty-seven?”

It was Darcy who responded, “Yep. And the infirmary. Pepper thought she might be interested in privileges, but Tony was in there when we arrived.” Darcy made a face.

Laura hid her surprise that this new doctor was so deeply in Pepper Potts’ confidence that she had already had a tour of the Avengers’ medical facilities. If Ms. Potts thought Dr. Vivas was worth that, then she had to be both excellent at what she did and trustworthy. Instead of voicing her conclusion, she turned and placed a sympathetic hand on the doctor’s arm. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Dr. Vivas.”

“Please, call me Evie.” She took a sip of coffee and smiled behind the lid. “And I have a specialty in obstetrics.” She waited a beat, her timing impeccable. “I’ve dealt with babies before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a long way to go to have a joke at Tony's expense, but there you have it.
> 
> I've ignored a few minor (breakup) things from Ragnarok, but - as the timeline in US gets closer to 2018 - I think I'm going to have to pretend that Infinity doesn't exist. Correcting Civil War was bad enough, my heart just can't take what's been done to Tony and Steve.


	3. Hump Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short one, so I decided to double post today. And GlynnisIsta8 deserved another Sam chapter. Don't we all, really?

**January 25, 2017**

 

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back in the co-pilot’s seat with a sigh. The most recent call to assemble had been a false alarm. Darcy, he was certain, was having severe words with the Chilean government regarding jumping to conclusions and securing their own military stockpiles. While he loved not being shot or maimed, he did not enjoy the long-ass flight.

Especially as that had him sitting in the cockpit with Steve while Wanda and Vision played footsie in the back. He almost wished Barnes had been along on this one, just so someone could supervise the most painfully obtuse wooing of the century. Barnes would hate it too, which would have been a bonus.

“I’m not asking you to break a confidence – I would never ask that, Sam.” Steve was frowning – damn near pouting with hurt. Just a few years ago Sam would have never guessed that a grown man could pout and actually look sincere. Sam could feel the guilt swarming up that he had questioned Captain America’s honor. He ruthlessly repressed it with the reminder that Captain America had short-sheeted Clint’s bed in Uzbekistan and had pointed the blame at Wanda without batting an eye.

“Actually, you kind of are, man. You want to know what Barnes is thinking? You ask him.” Steve was a great friend. A good man. But he and Barnes had what amounted to a platonic love affair complete with secrets, private codes, and weird crossed boundaries. Some days, it was the best thing keeping either of them from taking a long walk off a short pier. Other days, it made Sam want to strangle them both.

Well, Barnes anyway.

“I don’t want to know what he’s thinking,” Steve explained while he adjusted course and flipped on the autopilot. “I’ve known that since about two seconds after he did. And then I also knew when he decided to bury it and pretend it never happened. What I want to know is if you would advise against pushing the issue. I’m looking for an opinion on my behavior, so it doesn’t negatively impact him.”

“Have you ever considered just passing notes to each other? Or maybe drafting one for him and slipping into a locker somewhere? Check yes or no. Just so you know, I hated junior high the first time I was there. This isn’t better.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and furrowed his brow. Sam purposefully took the opposite position, sprawling in his seat and smiling. It wasn’t like the question didn’t have merit, it was more that discussing Barnes’ mental state was a fine line. On the one hand, he had no qualms about explaining triggers, coping mechanisms, and some cognitive therapies to Steve – Barnes had cleared all of that. On the other hand, Barnes occasionally...rarely...three times since the Raft, had confided genuine fears to Sam that he hadn’t shared with Steve.

_I dream that I’m falling again. But that isn’t the worst of it. The worst is...is, sometimes, when I wake up, I’m not scared. I'm angry. Furious at Steve for pushing that stupid new body far enough to reach me. So angry at him for getting into so much fuckin’ trouble all the time and angry at myself for feeling like I got ta bail him out. Fuckin’ angry that it was me, coulda been him, and maybe he would have been strong enough to get out of it instead of bein’ taken. But it was me that fell and I’m mad at him for it. Those are the nights I throw up til I can’t see straight._

_HYDRA wasn’t interested in me for that. They tried it once...I think just once, wanted to scare a target into talking. Wanted me to hurt his wife to do it. I don’t remember the details, just that when they finally shocked me down and shackled me, everybody in that room was dead. HYDRA handler, soldiers, the target. Everybody. Including the wife. I snapped her neck clean. She didn’t even have a chance to be scared._

_Why’d he put that plane down? Why not jump? What kind of selfish asshole kills himself just because he’s fuckin’ sad, huh? He was the lucky one, but he tried to give it all up. Makes me want to knock his teeth in, sometimes._

Sam would never, never break that trust.

But he was also Steve’s friend. And he didn’t _hate_ Barnes.

But he really loved yanking that guy’s chain.

Sam sighed again, knowing he was going to have regrets. “How about this? I’ll make some observations, see what I think, and then if he can handle a push I’ll do it. You stay out of it until he says something about it. No more trying to read his mind and fix things for him before he gets the chance to make his own mistakes.”

Steve grinned. “You’re a good friend, Sam. The best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He waved Steve off and closed his eyes to try and get some sleep. Not everyone on the quinjet was fueled by serum or universe-creation-whois. They could chauffeur his un-enhanced handsome ass around for a while. “Needlepoint that on a pillow, ‘Captain America’s Best Friend’. I’ll use it to reel in all the hot nurses after Barnes beats me up for messing in his love life.”

“Don’t worry. I have a good feeling about this plan.”

Sam groaned. For some reason, that wasn’t comforting.


	4. Other Duties, As Assigned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You remember Brenden, don't you? He certainly remembers Barnes. Refer to The Ring, Chapter 6 if you're a little fuzzy on him. It was a whole thing.

**January 27, 2017**

 

Brenden drafted another tweet regarding President Williams’ first week in office and attached a photo of Williams and her husband greeting the Speaker. As he hit post, he glanced over the edge of his cubical. He could see through the double wide doorway into the waiting area between the Chief of Staff’s office and the Oval Office. Yolanda, Williams’ personal assistant, sat at her desk typing industriously and ignoring the imposing man sitting in one of her guest chairs.

General Ross was shorter in person than he looked on television, but just as frightening. Brenden was glad he didn’t have to deal with the man. As much of a bitch as Darcy Lewis was, she was welcome to it. Whatever  _it_ was, and he still hadn’t quite figured out why a no-name foundation willing to hire someone with zero experience like Darcy would have any interest in a General, much less the Secretary of Defense. 

Brenden had starting dating Darcy junior year because she was hot, and had great tits. He kept dating her even though she criticized his technique and insisted on way too much foreplay because she was acing  _Law and Society_ with Professor Maltin who  _hated_ Brenden. And because of the thing with the pot. It hadn’t even been his, dammit. 

And then they had a small fight – she was the one who called him a pedantic poser – and she stomped off to Nevada or somewhere like a whiny girl. So what if he dated around while she was gone? They were broken up. And the Ohio Senatorial campaign was a career-builder. Anyone with half a brain and some ambition would have understood that he had to establish relationships to get his foot in the door. It wasn’t like he had trespassed or anything. Darcy  _had_ given him a key to her apartment before their fight. And his roommates would not have made a good impression on a mature, professional woman like Samantha. 

A goal-oriented person would have understood the logical side of it.

But Darcy had gotten a gig with some sort of charity of Tony Stark’s – nothing like the political or lobbying jobs she had always talked about so it wasn’t like she was even using her degree. And while Brenden was sure it paid well (she had been dressed really nice in Ottawa, really nice) he and everyone else knew all about Stark’s reputation. A girl who looked like Darcy and had no fundraising on her resume would have only been hired for one reason. Darcy was smart, sure, but Stark was probably liked something convenient on the side and Darcy was still hot. Really hot.

She had one over on Brenden, though, and he did owe her.  _Fuck_ , Brenden hated owing her. He had no misunderstandings about her ability to gut him, literally and figuratively if she so chose. So here he was, his first week in his new job at the  _White House_ , doing a favor for Darcy Lewis. Watching General Ross wait for his meeting with President Williams. He adjusted his webcam and took a still shot of the General, calmly reading through something in a leather portfolio. Brenden opened a chat window, a perk of being part of the social media team, and sent it to Darcy.

_Schedule running behind. Still waiting._

Her reply was immediate.

_VindictiveHarpy: I want an after photo. Then we’re square._

Brenden barely smothered a curse. She was going to get him fired. But his boss finding out about the pot thing could also get him fired. He hoped Tony Stark got tired of fucking Darcy and she ended up teaching high school back in nowhere Virginia, begging Brenden to friend her online.

The Chief of Staff came to show Ross in, and it was nearly thirty minutes before they came out again. Quicker than Brenden had expected. He had his camera ready, and took the picture without even glancing at the faces of the General or the Secret Service agent who was walking with him. Seeing security made Brenden break out in a sweat, and he sent the image and closed out both the camera and the message app quickly, busying himself with sorting through official inaugural photos so he wouldn’t have to meet anyone’s eyes. It would be hours before he could take an easy breath and not think about how, but for forgetting to change the sheets on Darcy’s bed after his weekend with Samantha, he might have still been banging Darcy and she’d have forgotten about his promise over the pot thing. 

Thank god it was all over.


	5. A Magic Number

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friday really is the best of all days.

**January 27, 2017**

 

“Thank you again for taking the day off. I hope this doesn’t make more work for you on Monday.”

“No sweat, Steve.” Darcy grinned up at him. Snow was falling – it seemed like it had never really stopped this winter – and it dusted her hat and hair lightly. “I already put in overtime this week. Remember how we canceled date number three so that I could listen to the French Minister of State try to kiss your ass? Remember how I did that for you so that you didn’t have to show up at the meeting? Remember, Steve?”

Steve did remember. He felt a little guilty about it, but only a little. And it was more that he felt guilty because last weekend Darcy had planned a Saturday afternoon at the Hayden Planetarium and made reservations for dinner at a Greek place she claimed had the best baklava this side of the Mediterranean. As Bucky had said, dealing with governments was Darcy’s job, after all. And if it meant that Steve didn’t have to sit through uncomfortable innuendos regarding Nazi occupation and try to bite his tongue so that he wouldn’t point out the hypocrisy in public beach attire mandates, then he was grateful she was so good at what she did.

He returned her smile. “Does that make this the third date?” Darcy had been very specific, tantalizingly specific, about what she expected from a third date.

She held up her mittened hand, as if he could see her fingers ticking off. “One: kung fu extravaganza. Two: naked yet sadly unmolested soldier. Three: furniture scavenger hunt.” She nodded decisively and tucked her arm into his, pressing closer against him as they made their way down the sidewalk.

“Shopping is a date, are you sure?” He teased, then processed what she had said. Heat bloomed on the back of his neck and low in his belly. “You never said I was naked.”

“Oh,” she scoffed, and he couldn’t tell if she was blushing or just cold, “you were totally naked. Super naked. Like, I deserve a prize for all of the nakedness and yet none of the hanky-panky. A good citizenship award or something. You’re the Captain of this figurative nation-shaped boat, can’t you decide when someone has shown valiant self-control in the face of extreme temptation?”

Steve bit his lip at the look of lascivious pride on her face. It had been a long couple of weeks since that first date. He had managed to bring her coffee a few times – lunch once, and there had been an intense twenty minutes of kissing in her office before he was summoned to mediate a discussion between Tony and Nat. All in all, Steve was really looking forward to date number three. He vacillated for a moment between good manners and what he wanted to do, which was pull her into the first alley they passed and kiss her senseless. He settled for something in between. He tipped his head so that his breath would blow across her earlobe and whispered in a low voice,

“I only give rewards for bad behavior.”

He was pleased to hear her breath catch; her chest heaved just a bit under her red coat. Steve would admit he looked, he was only human. Her cheeks definitely gained more color and the tip of her pink tongue darted out to touch her lower lip. He wanted to catch it in his own mouth.

“Steven Rogers.” Her eyes were practically glowing behind her glasses. She leaned up on tiptoe, pressing her weight against his bicep. “My behavior will win every ribbon you’ve got. And then some,” she purred. She fell back on her feet and tugged him into their first stop of the day, but she could have lead him to an opium den and Steve wouldn’t have cared. He was preoccupied by the thought of Darcy, bare of everything but some strategically draped first place awards. 

She would taste – look,  _look_ good in ribbons.

That only made his jeans uncomfortable and Steve was glad for the mid-thigh fall of his wool coat. It also brought up a hazy dream, or maybe a fantasy, of Darcy in his bathroom. Steam all around her and the smell of vanilla in the air. He was tall enough he had seen everything, and no amount of foggy glass could conceal how soft and delicious Darcy was when naked. And shocked. She looked really shocked, which was out of place for a fantasy.

“Did I say you tasted pink?” He blurted. 

Darcy raised an eyebrow, and it was only then he noticed the salesperson approaching and then promptly veering off to help another customer. He had never been so happy that wearing sunglasses and a hat inside was only considered mildly ill-mannered in the 21 st century. The last thing they needed was a report that Captain America was propositioning a woman in a furniture store.

“Don’t worry, Steve.” She patted his arm with false sympathy. It wasn’t hard to tell when Darcy was being sarcastic or funny. Her mouth was moving. “You were a perfect gentlemen. And you called me pretty, which was nice.” He was about to smile, relieved that if he had actually seen her naked at least she wasn’t offended, and also trying not to desperately recall every inch of skin he could remember, when she continued, “And you told me all about your first anatomy lesson, so I understand that you might not be able to help but stare.”

Steve felt his mouth fall open. He recalled his first time seeing a naked girl. Mostly naked. Bucky had led him around the side of the gymnasium after school with the promise that he had a jar of spiced apples in his lunch sack they could share, only to find out Buck had timed their snack to coincide with the high school girls’ finishing up in the locker rooms. The locker rooms which had windows at ground level in the narrow walkway where no one was allowed to hang out and which made a perfect hiding spot for two boys with sweets. Steve’s neighbor, Gertrude Akheimer, had seen them and screamed bloody murder. Bucky had had to bite his own arm to keep from laughing and giving away their hiding spot behind the cafeteria dumpster. Steve had been equally embarrassed and confused about what Gertrude wore under her clothes.

He was definitely not confused about what Darcy looked like naked. He had strong,  _extremely_ strong feelings about her. Naked. In his shower.

She smirked, turned away, and pulled out her phone, comparing a photo on it to a sofa on display. “Do you think this has ‘clean, modern lines without being angular’? Salty nuts and scrotum, if Bucky was going to be this specific about your décor, he should have come himself. I’ll just send him a picture. He can decide. Do you care about this? Or does an artistic eye not...”

Steve followed Darcy around for the next three hours, looking at sofas in big furniture stores. He tested to make sure nothing groaned under his weight. Darcy bounced  _a lot_ – for ‘science’ she claimed – which he enjoyed. There were tables in small custom shops. Rugs in sketchy, back alley consignment stores and trendy designer galleries. He had opinions, and she listened and firmly repeated that it was his house and he should get want he wanted. She had weird taste, eclectic and bright and oddly charming when it wasn’t assaulting his eyeballs with colors and patterns he hadn’t known existed on Earth. Bucky repeatedly texted her that everything she sent him to look at was shit. Steve ignored him, purchasing the least obnoxious rug she liked and having it delivered to his place. He planned on putting it in one of the spare bedrooms. A guest wouldn’t have to look at it  _too_ long. And a kid would probably like the –  _Whoa_ .  _Slow down there._

He shook himself out of that train of thought and focused instead on steering them toward some lunch. He could hear Darcy’s stomach rumbling and his had been empty for way too long. He managed to spot a tiny corner table in a crowded deli and maneuver both Darcy and the bags she had collected into place before the other guy eyeing the spot could get there.

“You okay holding down the fort while I get food?”

“I’ll beat off any chair poachers. Feed me, Seymour!” She dramatically laid the back of her hand against her forehead and tipped her head back, displaying a creamy line of neck and a peek of skin down her scarf. “The biggest sandwich they have. No mayonnaise. I can forgive a lot, Steve, but I swear to God if there is mayonnaise on my sandwich there will be hell to pay.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He returned her grin and noted how her eyes darkened just a little. If anyone had tried to tell him back in 1939 that good manners would turn women on he would have looked at them like they were insane. In 2017, he’d dust off opening doors, pulling out chairs, and standing when Darcy entered the room no matter how Natasha would scoff if it meant those peacock blue eyes would heat an extra degree.

The counter staff didn’t even look at him as he ordered and paid. Steve loved the anonymity of New York. He filled drinks and checked Darcy’s sandwich twice – no mayo, before returning to her side to find her studiously ignoring a guy trying to talk her out of the second chair at her table. Steve wasn’t sure at first if the man was more interested in a place to sit or the well-filled out blouse that was revealed since Darcy had removed her coat. His jaw tightened when the guy moved close enough that her elbow brushed against his hip.  _Definitely not the seat._ The asshole wasn’t even trying to hide how he was staring at her chest. Steve stopped carefully easing through the crowd and began striding with purpose. 

He needn't have bothered. 

Darcy looked up from her phone just before Steve could get close enough to say anything.

“Look, dude. Seat’s taken. And I’m not interested.”

“Come on, maybe I made a bad first impression. How about I give you my number and-”

“Okay, now you’re starting to embarrass yourself. I said I’m not interested. So this is your chance to move along before it becomes a thing.” She set down her phone on the table, where it buzzed with notifications. People at other tables were starting to look, some in sympathy, others in amusement. “Next time, with some other woman, try talking to her before you ogle her boobs and see if that works out better for you.”

The man’s face flushed. “I-”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve slid the tray onto the table, and tried not to feel too satisfied with the way he could look down on the other man’s head. Or nervous about calling Darcy sweetheart in public. It was probably too possessive of him. “Avocado okay?” 

Persistent guy turned, a condescending smirk on his face, no doubt ready to feel superior to whomever Darcy had saved a seat for. He did have on some expensive looking clothes so maybe he thought wealth was what should have made Darcy interested. But then, Natasha had picked out Steve’s coat – on Tony’s dime, so he felt confident he held his own in the looking  _financially comfortable_ category. And Erksine had ensured he took first place in the  _mind-your-manners-around-my-girl-or-I’ll-knock-out-your-teeth_ category. Not that Steve would actually hit a civilian for being rude. But it was pleasant to think about sometimes.

“Ooo – BLT, what have I done to deserve you?” Darcy didn’t even bother dismissing Persistent, but began unwrapping her sandwich and dumping the container of green glop all over the toast. She met Steve’s eyes and pushed out his seat with the toe of her boot. “I promise I will do it again – with fervor.” And she winked.

He noticed when Persistent slunk off, Steve always monitored potential threats even when his mind was considering other things. Things like the way Darcy’s white teeth crunched into the crisp bacon and the little noise she made when she licked a smear of guacamole off her bottom lip. Thank god for the serum, because without it there was no way Steve could have remained aware of his surroundings and still watched Darcy enjoy her lunch so thoroughly.

“ _Emmm_ ,” she moaned around another mouthful and Steve took a bite of his own deluxe club to cover his interest in her enjoyment. “I almost forgot.” She swallowed and used her left ring finger, the only one not yet smeared with bacon grease or tomato juice, to unlock her phone and swipe through a few screens. “This was sent to me while you were in line. Thought you might want to see it.” She spun it around to face him and turned her full attention to her sandwich.

It took Steve a few bites to figure out what he was looking at. A message, from  _BoySlut_ , reading:  _We’re even_ , and a picture of Secretary Ross, in full uniform, standing in an office setting. Behind him was a generic looking man in a black suit. He had a white cord behind his ear.  _Security_ . It was the look on Ross’ face though, that really caught Steve’s attention. His skin looked clammy, gray and sort of damp. His eyes were wide, his mouth slack with shock. Maybe actual, medical shock, it was that blatant. He looked old. Beaten. Like a bully that had been knocked down for the first time and wouldn’t be getting back up for a while.

Steve’s precise attention to detail caught the name plate on the desk behind the Secretary. It was partially covered, but he could still make out enough of the title to guess the rest. “Darcy?” He tensed his shoulders, leaning over the table in an effort to remain unheard. The deli was loud, crowded, and unlikely to be under surveillance, but his time on the run had taught him to be careful. He whispered, “Is this photo from  _inside_ the  _White House_ ?”

“ _Yerh_ ,” she nodded, cheeks bulging with food and began licking her finger tips. She swallowed. “I think I tapped out my resource with this one. But it was for a worthy cause. Anyhow,” she grinned, eyes alight behind her glasses, and tapped on the edge of her phone to draw his attention. “He got fired today. You wouldn’t believe the negotiating for that to happen under the new administration. Congressional inquiry pending. Happy third date, Steve!” 

He stared at her, trying to understand how he had gotten so fucking lucky. She leaned forward too, stopping just before her eyes would have crossed to meet his gaze. Her voice dropped an octave into seductive territory. 

“Do I get a reward now?”

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, no nerves in using the endearment this time, “you can have anything you want.”


	6. Weak End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All praise Saturday.
> 
> Also, apparently I said this series was about Steve/Darcy? Or something like that? I don't want to be a liar. I guess.

**January 28, 2017**

 

Darcy sat on the stairs between her apartment and Steve’s place, the door at the bottom open so she could look out her transom window at an eye level view of sidewalk and passing feet. Her phone tapped rhythmically against her knee, pausing every eighth beat to check the time. Steve was late, and Darcy was pissed.

Not pissed because he was late – that wasn’t his fault and she was well aware that just because a sitrep meeting was scheduled to be over by one didn’t mean it really would be over by one. Or two. She glanced at her phone again. It was coming up on two-thirty and Steve still wasn’t home and hadn’t texted to let her know he was on his way – not that he needed to. They hadn’t been dating nearly long enough for her to have any right to expect ETAs and location updates that didn’t directly affect concrete plans, but Steve had said he wanted to do something together after his meeting and Steve was not an idle planner.

And by do something, Darcy had assumed he meant her. 

Even if he hadn’t, that was what he was getting. Sensibilities and perceived moral conundrums be damned, Darcy wanted sex and she was going to get some if she had to tie Steve down and chuck his phone and comm out the window to get it. 

_Actually…_ Her brain frizzed for a moment on the image of Steve tied to the bed, lips red and raw and chest heaving. She’d need some sort of super-strength nylon restraints. Or maybe Tony had something in development that could…

_No. Bad Darcy. You’re angry_ , she reminded herself.  _Frustrated. You need to keep a clear head so you can sort this out and get on the same page before you do things to that man that are illegal in some counties._

Frustrated. Right. Because date number three on Friday had gone amazingly well. Steve had excellent, classically elegant, tastes, but he never actively flinched from the horrific and vertigo inducing finds she showed him. The longer he continued to nod and sidestep actually saying how awful anything was, the more she had wanted to continue messing with him. She thought the _Starry_ _Night_ easy chair would do it, and if not that then the leg lamp, or the poultry-themed area rug, but Steve had been polite and managed not to blink at a single atrocious suggestion even when Bucky was blowing up her phone convinced she had lost her ever-loving mind and also probably her eyesight.

So shopping had been fun both because she was spending someone else’s money and because she had successfully convinced Steve that she really, really loved reproduction velveteen goldenrod upholstry. Then Steve had braved the line at her favorite deli by himself,  _score_ , and gotten her a sandwich to end all other sandwiches. He had called her  _sweetheart_ and quietly provided backup while letting her handle an ogler on her own terms. To top it off, Brenden had come through with perfect timing so that she could surprise Steve with her little side project of making Secretary Ross regret the day his daddy had performed coitus with the future mother of old wet asshole incarnate. 

Steve had been suitably impressed slash worshipful, and had expressed that emotion through absolutely heavenly subtle strokes to her neck and the insides of her wrists all the way back to his place. And between a few deliveries of the stuff he had purchased, there had been sweet kisses to her jaw. Shivery kisses to her throat. Hard -  _pressed so tight and wanton my panties were damp_ – kisses to her collarbone while his palms cradled her hips in a way that kept her firmly in place when she was certain that if she rocked just so against his thigh she could-

He had made her supper, for fuck’s sake. A light chicken salad and a glass of wine at the marble island in his kitchen that could have doubled as an art installation and home for small dinosaurs or large dogs. Just the right amount of full (enough to take the edge off and to have some energy but not so much that she couldn’t engage in some light – or very intense – horizontal exercise) Steve had lead her by the lips up to his room and the freshly made bed there. She could smell the clean scent of laundry detergent and more than anything else that day it made her heart dance. She knew he hated doing laundry, knew he was awful at it, but she had mentioned on more than one occasion how she felt about Jackie Kennedy’s twice a day new sheets habit and he had remembered. Remembered and made the effort.

She had almost stripped right then. It had been a herculean effort, but Darcy had been an adult and stopped making out for long enough to pose a serious conversation about things like birth control, STDs, kinks, and safe words. At the time, she had squirmed in pleasure and amusement watching Steve’s eyes widen as he tried to calmly ask if she was into any of the things she had mentioned. She had pretended to think about it and hesitated, then proceeded to detail a few fantasies that made Steve’s ears flush and his eyes darken.

She should have just stripped.

Because, of course, after she had taken the time to work through the awkward and responsible part of the evening, after she had wasted perfectly good minutes explaining why condoms plus birth control was her contraceptive of choice – minutes that could have been spent with Steve’s fingers in her panties – that was when he got a notice to assemble. If Darcy hadn’t  _just_ reprimanded Tony for pushing Steve and her together, she would have thought the billionaire was fucking with her.

God help the person who got between her and a willing Steven Rogers.

Darcy had understood. Mentally, she could process that saving the world from HYDRA or alien princes with daddy issues took precedent over the throbbing, needy state of her vagina. Emotionally? Darcy was fully prepared to personally track down the Hulk and get his ass back on the roster so that Steve could take off one goddamned weekend, for christsake. What more did a girl have to do to get laid? She had negotiated national and international pardons, managed Tony  _how-many-buttons-can-I-push-before-someone-punches-me_ Stark, and dealt in shady political backrooms like a fucking  _bubbe_ at a bargain basement Yonkers sale to make certain that  _Thad_ would never again have enough clout to order a motherfucking pizza – much less an incarceration.

She had needs. A need. Just the one. Steve. 

But he had looked absolutely heartbroken and torn up over having to leave. And the erection in his pants was no laughing matter either. Taking a medium rare aged porterhouse from a starving man wouldn’t be as cruel as denying Steve Rogers when he looked like that. So Darcy had put on her professional woman smile, kissed him like she might be able to suck an orgasm out through his mouth, and promised she would see him later. 

After the least satisfying night she had ever spent with unlimited hot water and her own imagination, Darcy had checked in with the office on the status of the operation, found out that Steve had been sent home round two a.m. and determined that she would start the day out right. Right being with a shower, a bit of tidying up, and Tahitian vanilla body scrub. Right being with a cup of coffee for him, a latte for her, multiple orgasms. And a bag of pastries from the corner grocer for afterward.

She was just reaching out to press the bell, hands full and sultry smile in place, when he opened the door. He was not dressed for a lazy morning acquainting himself with all of Darcy’s erogenous zones. He was dressed for work. Not  _pew-pew-frisbee-zing_ work, but long meetings and frustration work.

_Frustration. Join the club._

He had apologized, profusely. He had kissed her, thoroughly. He had lead her through the first floor of his brownstone, eating three of the four danishes that she had picked up –  _that’s supposed to be sex fuel_ , her brain screamed – with one hand and hugging her waist with the other. He had lamented, with white teeth pulling at his lower lip in a way that made her nipples tight, that he had to go to the team meeting. They needed to review the last mission and some details that had come up. He insisted, with sincerity punctuated by warm, coffee-flavored tongue, that he wanted to do something with her later. A movie. Or dinner. They could order in if the predicted snowstorm got bad. And, fuck, he needed to reschedule his furniture delivery.

Darcy had once dumped a guy who asked her to skip out on an afternoon of working with pre-dark elves Jane to fill in on his bowling team. (Although, to be fair, it wasn’t just him, she did really hate bowling.)

She had thrown a drink –  _fucking fifteen dollars for a cocktail what the hell is wrong with LA_ – on a date who had insisted that lactose intolerance wasn’t that big of a sacrifice.

She had pulled off, mid-thrust, when an occasional hook-up had on a guy who had suggested that a democracy and a republic were basically the same thing. 

Darcy had a history of avoiding any sort of tentative commitment, favor-trading, or compromise within a physical or romantic relationship. So it was to her utter surprise when she had opened her mouth and offered to hang out at Steve’s to direct moving people. The look of grateful affection that had come over Steve’s beautiful face had been worth it. The series of lingering kisses had been a bonus. She had watched though the massive windows in his kitchen as he backed his bike out of the garage and drove off – one hand around the coffee she had purchased for him.

Now, hours later, out of coffee and more than done with both stereotypical New York moving men and furniture wrappings, Darcy was ready for a payoff. She needed sex. She deserved sex. And, frankly, Steve deserved sex with her. She glanced down at her phone again,  _two thirty-three_ , and groaned, letting her forehead fall into her palm.

A door slammed above her. The sound of a heavy tread punctuated, “Darcy?”

She scrambled up, dropping her phone, jamming a finger to save it, and then trying to coolly walk up the rest of the stairs when her heart was hammering with excitement.

_I am so going to get laid._

“Hey, handsome,” she called out as she pushed open the flimsy door at the top of the stairs, and rounded toward the kitchen, “come here oft- you fucker.”

Steve stood slowly, carefully, one boot in his left hand and the other unlaced on his foot, and turned to her with wide eyes. His right hand held a full sack that smelled like green chili. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since the lone cheese danish he had left her that morning. He set the bag down on the island. Right next to another box. A box that looked suspiciously like a bakery box.

“Er, sorry? I know I said one o’clock, but we got out a little late and I was hungry so I thought you might be too and...I thought _chili verde_ was your favorite?” His tentative smile got a little wobbly when she didn’t immediately respond. “I got dessert? I wasn’t sure what you would want but they had this cheesecake sampler so you can choose first and I’ll-”

“Steve.” Darcy licked her lips and looked him right in his gorgeous blue eyes. “Put that in the refrigerator. We need to talk.” Then she turned and marched back to the living room. Her hands were a trembling. She had to focus hard on hitting the little icon for the blinds and watching them close over the front windows, casting the new – _modern but not angular, whatever Bucky_ – couch into shadow. 

_He brought me Mexican food. And cheesecake._

Steve touched her elbow lightly. “Darcy? Is something wrong? I’m sorry I left so quickly this morning, but-”

“Please, sit down.”

He did, but he was frowning, looking worried and starting to gain that serious line between his brows that said a speech or righteous action was imminent. Darcy loved that little line. It made her hot in ways that stress wrinkles really shouldn’t. He opened his mouth, but she forestalled him by shoving a lamp box out of the way and kneeling on the floor in front of him.

“Steve,” she swallowed. Her hands naturally fell to his knees and he covered them with his own. His legs were huge. The wide joint of his knee too large for her fingers to span and the hard heat of his thigh making spit pool in the back of her mouth. He was wearing jeans, but she still wanted to bite him. Was that wrong? To obsess over sinking her teeth into thick muscle and golden skin and then licking away the marks?

“Steve,” she began again, forcing her gaze up to his face and away from his knees and everything in between. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Ah, what? Yes. I mean, damn Darcy.” He worked his jaw, and his expression cycled quickly through emotions that she couldn’t identify. “Yes. Since about ten seconds after I met you. But I...”

She rubbed his knee in encouragement and he lifted one hand to cup the side of her neck. His palm was sinfully warm in the cool air of the apartment and she shivered when his calloused thumb skimmed the edge of her ear.

“I like you. I...more than like you. If we don’t...I mean eventually I...You’re gorgeous and sexy as hell and I’d like to lay you out and paint you with my tongue-” Her heart stuttered and liquid gathered between her legs. “-but I also want to make you dinner and listen to why you think green beans are the devil’s work and get your opinion on how to make Bucky trim that horrible shag on his head and borrow that book on futurism and discuss it with you and pick out your lipstick so I can imagine how your mouth prints will look all over my skin.” He spoke in a rush, and his eyes darkened further with each word, but he didn’t move except to continue lightly tracing her ear.

Darcy was breathing fast. Her bra felt too tight and her jeans not quite tight enough in the right place. Her fingers clenched reflexively and the muscles of his legs didn’t give a centimeter. Other things clenched reflexively too. She licked her lips, tasting the faint trace of wax and the swollen flesh of anticipation.

_He has those thighs and that smile and a moral compass and he still brought me cheesecake._

“I also more than like you. And this shade is called _Eden_. Take off your pants.”


	7. Saturday Night Fever

**January 28, 2017**

 

Steve had many reasons to be thankful that Dr. Erksine had seen something in him worthy of the serum. Because of it, he had been able to do his part in the war. Even shilling bonds, humiliating as it had been, had raised money that was desperately needed to buy boots and tanks and bullets. Without the serum, he wouldn’t have been in Azzano and would never have been able to get Bucky out of that hellhole. He would not have survived those years in the ice to help defeat the Chitauri or Ultron or fucking HYDRA  _again_ . He wouldn’t have survived the battle with the Winter Soldier and found his friend. Hell, he wouldn’t have survived  _at all_ given his asthma. His heart. His lungs. His curved spine. The – well, pretty much his body had been a jenga tower of infirmaries just waiting for the right move and everything would have come down.

He and Bucky had talked about it, and they both agreed that the serum was a mixed bag at best and a curse at worst. They  had lived . That in and of itself was not always the miracle some might think. Especially for Bucky – but Steve too had his moments, especially early on, where he considered that it might have been better to die in the ice. There was the ineffectiveness of painkillers, and worse sometimes, the inability to get drunk. The belief so many had that because he healed quickly he didn’t feel pain. His eyesight and hearing were better, which meant that he couldn’t not overhear conversations around him. Even when they were about him. The boosted metabolism requiring him to eat a minimum eight-five hundred calories a day when he  _wasn’t_ working out (there was nothing to make you feel depressed like drinking protein from the blender standing over the sink), and the driving itch under his skin to be moving and burning energy all the damn time. The unspoken and barely acknowledged fear that his aging, like Natasha’s, might slow until everyone he knew  would  pass  him by . 

On an average day, Steve felt like he had paid his dues – _Buck_ _more than_ – and they deserved to seize every moment of the second chance at life they had been given. On an off day, when it was all tallied up, the good barely edged out the bad – and that included the value of _greater good_ over their own quality of life. 

With Darcy kneeling over his lap, her breasts shifting under soft  gray  cotton and her lips red and wet-looking as if she had been eating strawberries, he decided he’d take the serum a second time if that was the cost of admission into this life. She made it all more worthwhile. Not just because of the sex –  _and God_ – he really hoped there was going to be sex soon, but because of her smile and her laugh. Because of the way she eviscerated the career of General Ross and defended Bucky’s honor and made Tony listen. Because she ran into burning buildings and was a vicious bear before her coffee and talked his ear off.

“Take off your pants.”

Steve blinked, not sure if his ears were working or if he had been knocked unconscious and was dreaming one of his favorite fantasies. At least half of them started with Darcy telling him what to do. She leaned up against the edge of his couch, between his knees, and pressed her mouth to his. Steve sighed into it. Her mouth was so soft.  W arm and a little waxy from her lipstick. Her tongue swept along his upper lip and he opened for her, let her have her way for a few moments while his brain tried to catch up. One minute he had been trying to parse out why Darcy would ‘need to talk’ in her serious voice and the next her breasts were pressed lightly against him and he was wondering how much she liked her t-shirt and if she’d care when he ripped it open so they could be skin to skin.

She tasted faintly of mint toothpaste and overwhelmingly of dark, hot Darcy. The slide of her tongue against his was teasing – barely there and not nearly enough before she had pulled away to press kisses along his lower lip. The corner of his mouth. His jaw. She spoke against his skin.

“So hot right now. And this is definitely date four. I’m counting it.” She sucked on his neck, nipping at the muscle there and pulling the skin into her mouth. Heat shot straight through him and he shifted, his jeans already too tight. “And if you don’t get naked I’m probably going to just dry hump you here. That’s how ready I am.” _She never shuts up._ “You need to take off these pants and get your fingers on my clit.” He inhaled sharply at the thought, suddenly consumed with the image of her bare and open before him. “And then I am going to absolutely _ruin_ you, Steve.” She settled back down on the floor. “Are you even listening to me? Naked. Now.”

_Definitely in the good column._

Also in the good column? How enhanced agility enabled him to take off his jeans without disturbing Darcy’s position between his legs, hands on his knees. Steve pulled off his shirt and undershirt while he was at it. Darcy licked her lips, which was distracting, but while she was busy staring at his abs he wondered if he could peel off his socks without her noticing. He wasn’t too proud to admit that he flexed to hold her attention. 

“Can I just say...one more time...and probably again later...that I respect you as a person?”

_What_ ? Steve fumbled with his second sock and forced his eyes away from her cleavage and  his  thoughts  away from how she would move once he got his mouth on her. “Uh, what?”

“Just...really...respect the hell out of you. All moral-y and ethic-y and whatnot.” Her fingers slid up his bare thighs, brushing through the hair on his legs and leaving an electric trail under his skin. Steve had been more sensitive since the serum, which was ironic given his apparent purpose was to be shot at, but it certainly gave sex something extra. And Darcy’s cool little fingers, her nails just long enough to prickle, started a full body shiver that took him from semi-hard to completely ready. In the back of his mind, he also had a momentary concern that if her touch on his leg was this good, he might embarrass himself once he had her naked.

Darcy was still talking. “-important. Mutually. Important. To both of us. People.” Her fingers reached the hem of his shorts and slid underneath. Dangerously close –  _just a little furthe_ r – to where he wanted her most. “Not that aesthetics aren’t. Important.” She leaned further forward, until her face was inches from his skin. He could feel her breath on his bellybutton. “Abs have...your...but brains too. Love brains. So,” a cool puff of air had his hands fisting against the cushions, “so, so love all of...that stuff.” 

Then her lips were on his skin. Steve spent nearly six seconds staring down at her, his mouth hanging open, watching her press kisses across his stomach and down to the rise of his left hipbone to where it met his boxer briefs. Her lips were warmer than her fingers. The dichotomy sent blood rushing to his cock. He was certain he had never gone from mildly anxious to rock hard so quickly.

In the seventh second, he realized two things. One, Darcy was  _still_ talking. Two, he should really become more of an active participant.

“-compassion-” she murmured, then flicked out her tongue and Steve twitched, “-and, like, _mmm_...humor, and, _mmm_...” Darcy swiped under his waistband and Steve’s hands fell heavily on her shoulders. His thumbs brushed against her neck – the skin so incredibly soft and smooth. His palms gripped her over worn gray cotton; he groaned at the feel of his fingertips sinking into the flesh of her upper arms. He held on there and took a deep breath of air that smelled like her vanilla soap and the faint floral of her shampoo. It didn’t help him hold on to any concrete thoughts.

“...stuff...” Darcy licked again and her right fingers brushed against his balls.

“Fuck.” 

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, blue-green and a little unfocused behind her glasses. “I don’t want you to think I’m just about your body.”

“Sweetheart,” Steve paused, trying to think through a response instead of pushing her onto her back and burying his face in her breasts. He knew what she was trying to say, and he appreciated it, he really did. More women than he cared to think about wanted his body and nothing more – the same women who would have never looked at him twice before the serum. Darcy wasn’t like that – but he also didn’t really want to have a discussion about his fucking _personality_ right now. “If I promise I believe you and say we can revisit this later, will you get naked now? Please?”

Her gaze narrowed and gained some clarity. Her rosy lips quirked. “Why Captain, what makes you think I’m that kind of girl?” Darcy pressed her fingers much more firmly against him, cupping his weight and  _rolling_ . He groaned again. She whispered, leaning in to ward his skin again, “For the record, I am totally that kind of girl.”

She withdrew her hands with another wet kiss to his stomach, then stood. Darcy set her glasses on the unopened lamp box next to the couch and then whipped off her shirt. Some women might have tried to tease the motion out. Darcy definitely, definitely didn’t need to. Their make out session in her office a week prior had left him with a vivid impression of what she looked like and the phantom sensation of full, heavy flesh in his hands under her shirt. Standing there in her bra and denim leggings, Steve realized he had miscalculated. His imagination was a dim fantasy in comparison to all the pink-tipped pale flesh her sheer lingerie left on display. He could practically taste her skin already and his mouth watered a little.

Then she took off her leggings.

It was a process. He had admired similar pants on her more than once – jealous of the way they hugged her body – but he hadn’t really thought about what it would take to get them off. It looked about as time-consuming as  getting out of his suit. But he certainly didn’t jiggle like that stripping o f f kevlar. Steve palmed himself as Darcy bent over to work the tight fabric over her knees. Everything in her bra shifted, and he had to bite his lip to keep from surging off the couch and carrying her straight to the floor. 

_No carpet yet_ , he reminded himself.  _Hardwood would hurt her back._ Then Darcy twisted her hips with a swivel and a curse.  H er breasts bounced, her head went down near her calves – _holy mary mother of god she’s flexible_ – and her ass went up into the air. She was wearing a thong. 

Steve had the insightful and monumental realization that the hardwood wouldn’t hurt him at all.

He grabbed his shirt and hers, and the wallet out of his pants, and was sitting on the floor with her in his lap before she could do more than squeak in protest. He ran his right hand up her bare back, finding the clasp to her bra, while his left stroked down her legs. Her pants were still tangled around her ankles, and Steve didn’t think twice about his next move. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, and swiftly tore through the crotch of her leggings. Darcy made a sound of protest, or maybe just a moan, but he ignored it to swing her now free legs to either side of his hips. The first connection of her hot center to his cock – even with two layers of cloth between them – was heaven.

Or hell. He groaned against her lips, his body moving of its own accord to grind against her. Both hands moved up to work on her bra and she wrapped her fingers over his shoulders, pressing her weight down into him. She was wet already, dampening the fabric of his underwear and making him curse again.

“Fuck!”

“This okay?” She didn’t really stop to hear his answer. “It really, really needs to be okay because I think I am dying a little here. Maybe a lot.” She tossed back her head and he finally figured out the clasp. With her movements, the straps fell from her shoulders and Steve was greeted with the most beautiful pair of tits he had ever seen. Full, too full for her small body really, and impossibly high given the size. She had fine, silvery lines along the underside and he wanted to trace each one with his tongue like a road map leading him to her nipples. He hadn’t even touched her yet and they were tight, pale pink berries begging for his mouth. 

He cupped her, ducking his head and tasting the faint scars before licking around the crest of her breast, pebbled skin ghosting across his tongue. Her hips stilted.

“Fuck. God. Steve. More. More of that. Please.”

Her inability to form complete sentences sparked an idea in his brain and Steve grasped it with everything he had to form a plan. The plan to make Darcy unable to speak. If there was anything Steve excelled at, it was coming up with a strategy in the field and putting it to use. He sucked a little harder, and Darcy squirmed. He squeezed her other breast and caught that nipple between his first and second fingers, pulling and lightly pinching. She gasped. He twisted, just a bit.

“Ah, no, not like-” Steve switched sides, taking the hint and soothing the tender flesh with his lips. He used his tongue to press the tight berry against the roof of his mouth and she mewled. He grinned against her. “Yes. Yes, just like...oh, Steve. Yeah.”

Steve smoothed his palms down her ribs, circling her waist to dip into her bellybutton. His thumbs caressed the slight swell of her belly – so soft – and met the silky lace of her thong. Wrapping his fingers around the crease between her thigh and hip, he dipped his thumbs in, following the edge of her panties to the damp spot between her legs. For a brief moment, Steve stopped moving his mouth in confusion. He hadn’t been with a lot of women, and only one since the forties, but he had expected…

Darcy yanked on the longer hair on top of his head. “Hey, more things. I can do the things. Don’t worry, Steve. I will totally participate the fuck out of this.” She ground down against him, which had the dual benefit of pressing hot, wet woman against his cock and pushing his thumbs against her. His rough callouses snagged  against lace before sliding though a fresh wave of dampness. “Oh, oh, there. Just...there. Can you? Stroke-”

Steve did one better,  advancing his plan . He gave her nipple one last wet, sucking kiss, then smoothly rolled down onto his back. His palms slid down to her knees, catching her there and pulling her forward until she was balanced next to his ears. All she had to do was lean over and he would have perfect access to make Darcy forget how to speak.

“Did you?” She blinked down at him. Her eyebrows were drawn together and her lips were swollen and red - lipstick smeared at the corners. “Is that my shirt?” Steve grinned in response, stroking her legs and tucking his thumbs under the edge of her panties. “Did you make me kneepads?”

From the corner of his eye, Steve could see the white cotton of his own undershirt cushioning her weight. “Couldn’t have my girl getting bruises. None she didn’t enjoy, anyhow.”

Darcy rolled her eyes and smirked. “Who says I wouldn’t – hey!” 

Steve tore her underwear, the thin fabric ripping at the seams and pulling away in one sodden, sheer scrap. He tossed it aside to stare instead. Darcy was bare. A part of his mind processed that, realizing it was why she had felt so smooth under his thumbs. He wondered how common it was – he had seen modern porn. He had the internet for crying out loud. But he had figured that was just something done for show – aesthetics and the logistics of filming while staying prepared and well lit. He had never expected to see it in person. Another part of him was busy trying to wrest a little bit of blood away from his dick so he could think long enough to take action. Darcy was beautiful. All dark pink flesh, swollen with arousal and shiny-slick. He dipped his thumbs again, angling down to catch her outer lips as far back as he could reach and then drag her open. She felt like velvet. Like hot, wet, sin, and Steve was more than ready to drown.

“Hey! Hey...I liked. Oh. Steve, just. Pressure, at the top – please. Ungh.”

As he spread her open, her inner lips clenched and he took a deep breath of her scent.  _Musky, a little sweet._ Perhaps it was because his first intimate experience with a girl had been a lesson in using his tongue. Perhaps it was just that Steve had always liked being able to take charge of a situation – and that he liked doing things for people he cared about. Perhaps it was the guiltily enjoyed  drunk monologue , spoken in the darkest hours of their shared apartment, when Bucky had explained how to make a girl pray without ever going to church. Regardless, Steve enjoyed giving oral and he wasn’t going to wait any longer.

He braced on e palm below her left breast, cupping the firm mound and supporting her weight. The other he slid around to squeeze her bottom and urge her forward. Darcy swayed in surprise, falling onto her hands. He had to tilt his head to look up at her.  He couldn’t see her face past those glorious tits.

“Okay, sweetheart?” God, he really hoped it was okay. She was inches from his mouth and Steve knew he could make her fall apart – which was important, because he might not last long once he was inside her. Who was he kidding? He’d be lucky if he didn’t come in his shorts, but he’d be damned if he didn’t get Darcy off first.

“Uh, yeah. You don’t have to...I mean, I like...” That was all he needed to hear. He pressed the flat of his tongue at the bottom of her slit, licking firmly and spreading her open as he moved up. “Steve?” Her voice went up two octaves. Steve followed her direction and increased the pressure as he reached her clit, laving around the bundle of nerves and smiling when her hips bucked.

He kneaded her breast, rolling her nipple before dragging his hand down to help his mouth. He pressed his thumb against her opening and continued to work his lips and tongue around her clit with alternating direction and pressure. Increasingly, Steve had to grip her bottom tighter to keep her from bumping too hard into his face or bucking off of him entirely. Moisture was collecting on his chin and Steve began pumping slowly with his thumb.

“Ah, God. Steve! Yes…more...there, no! Down, down. Ah!”

Darcy stopped talking after that. For the next four or five minutes she was silent except for moans, gasps, and the occasional blasphemous use of his name. It was the hottest thing he had ever heard. And her taste.  _Holy hell_ . Just like the musky, sweet smell of her with a tang of salt that had him eager  to dive in for more. He had to remind himself to keep his lips on her clit. Plunging his tongue into her would be good for him, but she needed a bit more finesse. Pressure here. Stroke there. Swirl. Flick. Swirl. Draw. He pulled her sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth and applied suction. Then tapped with the end of his tongue. 

Darcy’s arms gave out.

For a few seconds, Steve had a face and arm full of trembling, sweaty woman. Even with his aching, unattended cock, they were some of the best moments of his life. With a grunt she rolled over, leaving one leg stretched across his neck and chest. Steve firmly stroked her thigh and grasped her hip. He looked up at her. She was flushed with exertion from her cheeks to the tops of her breasts.  _Prettiest tits,_ he thought stupidly. The blue-green of her eyes sparkled with satisfaction. Steve felt a surge of pride and happiness and arousal and something else he was pretty sure was love.

Her voice croaked, “Five out of five. Would use service again.”

Steve barked out a laugh.  _Definitely love._ “Don’t review yet. I have other features you haven’t tried.”

“Oh,” she cleared her sore throat and tried to sit up. Steve had to help her untangle her legs. “Well, I retract my statement then. Never say I...” Darcy frowned. “Steven Rogers, did you destroy my pants?”

Steve glanced at the wadded up denim remains around her ankles. The left side had worked partway off, hanging from her foot mournfully.  Maybe he should have tried to look more apologetic. He could have played it off as a one-time accident. But Steve wasn’t going to lie to her or himself. He definitely would be doing that again. He did, however, casually sweep her torn panties under his t-shirt as he sat up.  He also noticed he was still wearing his right sock, and tried to toe it off before she noticed how ridiculous he looked.

“I’ll buy you a new pair.” He gripped her ankle and tugged lightly, trying to pull her back to him. She resisted with narrow eyes.

“I really liked those, Steve. Do you know how hard it is with an ass like mine to find pants that don’t gap at the waist? Those were excellent-”

“Sweetheart,” Steve said, as seriously as he could manage with his face covered in her juices and his dick bobbing an angry red against his stomach. “How can I possibly make this up to you?”

Darcy gave in to his urging and moved to straddle his thighs. “Well. I suppose...If you can convince me that you’re willing to work for it.”

He smiled, reaching for his wallet and the condom inside. “ It would be my genuine pleasure .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to give a special thanks to those of you who have been loyal readers and frequent commentators from the beginning. I appreciate the support - and the dialogue! You keep pushing me forward, in all of my writing endeavors. Thank you so much! 
> 
> RosiedePlume  
> Shadows_of_Shemai  
> Kattabaker  
> Emma98  
> Meeks39  
> Serenitysea (ALL CAPS ALL THE TIME I AM ALSO SO EXCITED)  
> Biblioworm  
> Filiafamilias  
> GlynnisIsta8  
> Coffeecatscursingandcrafts  
> likeihavetime  
> Jade01  
> MlleGigi
> 
> Sorry if I missed anyone - this wouldn't be the monstrosity it has become without your support/enabling.


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